


Stop This Train

by anisstaranise



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Futsal, Injury Recovery, M/M, Sports Injury, physiotherapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4498890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine was tracing the healing scar on his knee, replaying the moment of his injury when his physiotherapist threw him a towel.<br/>Sebastian Smythe, physiotherapist and friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop This Train

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Shaira, who is a wonderful physiotherapist, for helping me with my research.
> 
> Written for **Seblaine Week 2015**. Day 3: _NYU Seblaine_
> 
> Title and song: **John Mayer** 's [Stop This Train](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHhhTtqWcOM).

The mat beneath him rasped under his weight and the stickiness of his skin. Despite its discomfort, the soft surface provided a much needed reprieve from the activities of the past hour. His muscles screamed in agony, his joints sore from the strain.

 _Serves you right for not saying_ no _, Blaine Anderson_ , he chastised himself as he sat up to reach for a bottle of water.

It wasn’t that Blaine couldn’t say _no_ \- he had no problems with putting his foot down when the occasion called for it. But his best friend Sam had pleaded; they had been a player short for their weekly futsal game and the court had already been paid for.

Blaine had been three weeks away from his Senior recital. He should have been home perfecting the scales and arpeggios for his recital piece instead of entertaining the idea of joining a game of futsal.

But he had said _yes_. Yes, he had no problems saying _no_ \- he just couldn’t say _no_ to Sam.

Blaine sat up slowly, wincing at the ache thrumming throughout his body, especially his knee, the pain making him cringe at the memory of the game.

He had been dribbling down the court easily, setting up a shot for the striker when a player from the other team- who clearly took a fun game of futsal too seriously- had slide-tackled him and sent him tumbling on the smooth flooring.

The moment the other player’s foot had made contact with his body, Blaine felt his right knee twist awkwardly.

And the pain that followed had been excruciating.

One day he would bitterly tell his children- “And that, kids, was how I tore my ACL- and it was all your Uncle Sam’s fault.”

Blaine was tracing the healing scar on his knee, replaying the moment of his injury when his physiotherapist threw him a towel.

“Good work today, Killer.”

He smiled behind the towel as he wiped the sweat off his face, preening under the compliment. Whatever task Blaine Anderson undertook- might it be his Piano studies classes at NYU Steinhardt or his twice-a-week physiotherapy- he aimed to excel.

“Thanks,” he said, looking up at the tall, lanky man with mousy-brown hair.

Sebastian Smythe, physiotherapist and friend.

Blaine and Sebastian had met during his first year at NYU. His then-roommate, Santana was a childhood friend of Sebastian’s and had introduced them during one of their weekend outings. They met a few times after that but never really kept in touch. The college-momentum had started to pick up and he slowly waived his social life, burying himself under all the school projects and assignments. He assumed the same for Sebastian when they lost contact completely, considering he had been in his third or fourth year at NYU School of Medicine at the time.

It wasn’t until three weeks ago, on his fourth day post-surgery did they meet again. The injury and the surgery had been terrifying- he was afraid that the future condition of his knee would severely affect his future as a musician. It was comforting to have a familiar face during his rehabilitation, helping and encouraging him through the painful process of regaining the full function of his knee.

His injury had caused him to miss his Senior recital; he couldn’t perform with a busted knee. Putting even the slightest weight on his right leg was pure agony which meant he couldn’t operate on the piano pedals. Not a lot of people realize that for pianists, their feet were just as important as their fingers.

Fortunately, the head of the Piano Studies faculty had agreed to reschedule his recital slot to a later date and Blaine had committed all of his energy into his physiotherapy- he needed to get better in order to perform the best that he could. His entire post-college career depended on how well he would perform at the recital.

“Next session, we’ll go slow on the stationary bike,” Sebastian chimed as he knelt next to Blaine, massaging the calf on his injured leg. “Just focus on strengthening your muscles- the glute muscles, calves and hamstring are responsible for supporting your knee. Strengthen those and we’ll slowly wean you off the crutches in the next few sessions.”

Blaine nodded absentmindedly at the information Sebastian was spewing, too focused on the relaxing feel of his therapist’s fingers kneading his sore muscles to really register what was said. He felt as though everything in his body ached- his muscles, his joints, even his bones.

Sebastian had been gentle with the therapy but he was firm- working him hard on his three-point gait pattern to improve his knee extension and on his hamstring and calf muscles during the figure-4 hamstring stretches. By the time the hour was up, Blaine was exhausted and sore all over.

Blaine was really glad to have Sebastian as his therapist; if it were anyone else, he knew he would be rather uncomfortable, considering his shy nature. Sebastian had been a friend- even more so these past three weeks. They had met up regularly after the initial session, catching up over coffee whenever they could. It helped that Blaine’s campus and apartment were a short distance from NYU Langone Medical Center.

It was easy talking to Sebastian. Both born and raised in the Midwest, they shared a love for travelling and all things New York. And they both had similar familial backgrounds.

When they first met, Sebastian had been a driven medical student- his path trained on being a surgeon. But in his final year, Sebastian had a change of heart and switched careers rather drastically- opting to become a physiotherapist instead, much to the dismay of his surgeon-parents.

Sebastian had followed his heart; Blaine admired that in a person. He, too, had defied his family’s wishes of following the footsteps of his grandfather, his father, his brother- they were all policemen, blue bloods through and through.

Blaine and Sebastian understood each other; the struggles of going down the path of your own choosing, treading at your own pace. It was safe to say that of all his friends, Sam included, Sebastian was the one who understood him most.

Yes, he was extremely shy, but Blaine was most comfortable with Sebastian, relaxing under the therapist’s touches instead of blushing as he was prone to do with others.

Sebastian continued to slowly bend and straighten his knees, all part of the cool down session that helped calm his adrenaline and loosen his sore muscles. It was then that Blaine saw an acoustic guitar prodded up on its stand at the corner of Sebastian’s station.

“You play?” he asked, titling his chin in the guitar’s direction.

Sebastian’s eyes followed his gaze as he helped Blaine strap his knee brace back on. “Yeah, but just some notes here and there, mostly nursery rhymes.”

Blaine arched his eyebrows at the statement, amused.

“I work with some of the kids recovering from a sprain or a broken leg,” he explained as he helped Blaine to his feet. “They get scared of the pain that sometimes come with therapy, so I make it into a game- a musical game.”

Blaine was slightly surprised by the revelation. When taken at face value, Sebastian wasn’t the warmest of people- snarky, sharp-tongued, too confident for his own good- not to mention all the sexually-laced innuendoes.

It was a delight to learn something new about his friend- that Sebastian Smythe had another, softer side - attentive, compassionate and good with children. Why else would he be assigned as the paediatric physiotherapist if he wasn’t the best for the job?

Blaine limped towards the guitar and touched it lovingly; a solid rosewood dreadnought, semi-glossed. It was simple yet elegant and beautiful. Fitting of Sebastian, he thought with a smile.

“May I?” he asked, his hands already curling around the neck.

Sebastian gestured his go-ahead, his signature smirk etched on his lips as he pulled up a swivel stool from the corner to sit next to Blaine.

Blaine slowly settled himself on the bench, carefully adjusting his injured knee in order to be able to cradle the guitar comfortably.

Although the piano was his heart and soul, Blaine could play most of the string instruments- the guitar being his favourite.

He closed his eyes and let his fingers gingerly trip up and down the fretboard. There was something magical about musical instruments to him. College had been stressful, even more so now that it was almost ending. Once the dust of recitals and finals exams settled, he would be graduating- sent off into a whole new world. The mere thought of it was overwhelming, terrifying. But the moment his fingers lazily strummed the strings, he could feel some of the year’s tension seep out of his pores.

Automatically, Blaine’s fingers plucked the chords of one of his favourite songs.

And he sang-

_No, I’m not colour blind  
I know the world is black and white_

Blaine had lost count on the number of times he sang the song in the past. The melody, the words resonated with him- the song that spoke to him on every level.

_Try to keep an open mind  
But I can’t sleep on this tonight_

The words came easily, like the meeting of old friends- effortless, comforting. His fingers instinctively strummed and glided on the notes as he reached the chorus-

 _Stop this train_  
_I wanna get off and go home again_  
_I can’t take the speed it’s moving in_

He let the meaning of the words wash over him.

His college days are numbered. Despite its tedious schedule and absurd hours of work and assignments, college was... safe. The routine of it all was dependable:

Sign up for classes, show up for classes, complete assignments, practice the concerto pieces assigned, practice then practice some more.

It was sound. It was predictable.

But after graduation- it would be a whole different ball game where demands of the world might be too much to handle, where uncertainties were stacked higher than ever.

He would have to make decisions, difficult ones, which would shape his future for better or for worse.

He would have to find a job.

“What would a pianist do for a job, Blaine? Can you depend on it to put food on the table?” his father had asked the day he had announced his choice in profession.

Blaine hated to admit that perhaps he should have listened to his father; perhaps he should have enrolled in the Police Academy like the rest of the men in his family.

He knew he wouldn’t be happy if he had, but at least it would be safe- it would be dependable.

He didn’t regret his decision to pursue his passion in Piano Studies though, but he would be lying if he said the unpredictability outside the walls of the campus weren’t overwhelming.

It terrified him to no end and he toyed with the wishful thinking of remaining a student at Steinhardt indefinitely.

 _I know I can’t_  
_But honestly,_  
_Won’t someone stop this train_

Blaine strummed the final notes of the song, silence falling in the spaces between him and Sebastian.

He looked up to find a pensive look etched on Sebastian’s winsome features.

“What?” Blaine asked nervously.

Sebastian huffed a laugh at the question. “It’s beautiful. You bleed into the song- it’s really... moving.”

“Thanks,” he said, preening as he pushed himself slowly off the bench to return the guitar to its rest.

“I suppose it makes sense now,” Sebastian said matter-of-factly.

“What makes sense?”

“Your injury.”

Blaine frowned up at his friend, confused by the unexpected statement.

Sebastian shrugged a shoulder and gave Blaine a look that asked _Isn’t it obvious?_ “I just think that on some conscious level, you going out to that futsal game three weeks before an important recital was your way of _stopping the train_ ,” he explained.

Blaine took a wobbly step back, recoiling at the words. How could Sebastian insinuate that he had gotten injured on purpose?

“I didn’t purposely tear my ACL, Sebastian,” he said through gritted teeth. There was anger vibrating in his bones now. It was sudden, intense, although he wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from.

“Of course you didn’t do it on purpose-” Sebastian said firmly but his tone was softer now. “-but there was a reason you went to the game anyway, right? You once told me how you stayed home for a week, wearing woollen gloves to protect your fingers in preparation for a _simple_ class ensemble presentation. I imagine you would’ve taken more drastic measures when you’re about to perform for your graduation recital.”

Sebastian’s words hit him square in the chest, driving the air out of him. He could feel his anger breathing fumes out of his pores.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Blaine said, seething. He grabbed his crutches forcefully off the wall and attempted to storm out of the rehabilitation clinic as best as he could.

Sebastian’s words echoed with every step he took, his mind reeling with all that his friend had said. He had to admit there was some truth to his friend’s assessment. For a mere class presentation, he had taken all the precautions to ensure he would be in tip top shape to perform.

So why had he carelessly joined a game that had increased his chances of getting hurt?

 

\---

 

The rubber tips of the crutches squeaked across the linoleum floor as Blaine made his way through the hospital towards the rehabilitation clinic.

Blaine had stayed away for four days after storming out on Sebastian, missing one of his therapy sessions amidst his wallowing.

And it had taken him four days to finally, _finally_ admit that Sebastian had been right.

It was safe to say that what laid beyond the doors of NYU Steinhardt scared him, the prospect of the real world, with its challenges and winding roads, was daunting.

But that was life, he realized. There would always be an obstacle or two that would make things difficult to reach his goals; there would always be the likelihood of failures.

After four days, he had come to terms that maybe, subconsciously, not saying _no_ to Sam when his best friend had called with a plea was his way of running away- away from the responsibilities of being an adult, away from all that would rip him from the safety and comfort of college.

It was then that Blaine had decided he wasn’t going to run anymore.

He scanned the clinic, his brown eyes gazing past people in therapy sessions and bulky exercise equipments. A moment passed before he caught sight of a tall figure hunched over one of the counters, rigorously scribbling away on a chart.

Sheepishly, Blaine started to move towards Sebastian, his palms sliding uncomfortably due to his nervously sweaty palms.

He didn’t know why he was nervous. Perhaps it was because of the embarrassment of prematurely storming out on his friend before they could really talk things through- the way they always had. Perhaps it was the weight of finally accepting that yes, he was scared of what life might bring once he graduated.

He felt silly now for being angry at Sebastian for calling him out on his insecurities, his fears. He wasn’t angry with Sebastian- not really. He realized now that he was angry at having the truth of it all brutally shoved in his face where he could no longer deny or ignore it.

“Hi,” Blaine greeted Sebastian as he approached the counter.

Sebastian turned to face him. Where he thought he would find something cold or sarcastic from his friend, he was instead greeted by a warm smile.

“Hey, Killer. Here to reschedule?” Sebastian asked nonchalantly, as if Blaine hadn’t left abruptly, angrily during their last meeting.

There was an apology stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue. He had a whole speech rehearsed. But none of the words seemed to flow the way he wanted it to.

He stood in front of Sebastian, gaping awkwardly around words that wouldn’t come.

Moments passed before Sebastian broke the silence, grinning from ear to ear. “C’mon, my noon patient cancelled,” Sebastian said, clapping a hand on his shoulder and steering him towards one of the stationary bicycles. “Let’s get you on that bike, get you up and running on that knee in no time.”

The argument of _you don’t know anything about me_ fell flat when it came to Sebastian Smythe because Sebastian _did_ know him. He supposed it should be disconcerting for someone to be able to read him so easily, to readily give what he needed without being asked.

But it wasn’t disconcerting at all- not when it was Sebastian.

Blaine might have accepted his reservations and fears concerning his future, but it was still difficult to voice them out. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to solidify it all with words.

And somehow, Sebastian _knew_ that, neither demanding an apology nor expecting an explanation.

He smiled up at Sebastian as his friend helped him up on the stationary bike, gratitude laced in the curl of his lips.

“Don’t worry, Blaine,” Sebastian whispered just as he was leaning forward to grip the handlebars. “You’re going to kill it at the recital. And you’re going to continue killing it way after.”

The words left a renewed sense of confidence on Blaine’s skin, reigniting a fire that was dimmed by worries and insecurities of the uncertainties of the future.

He hadn’t known it, but the words, however simple, were ones he needed to hear.

Sebastian, on the other hand, knew. He always did.

 

\---

 

Four weeks later, Blaine beautifully performed Chopin’s [Nocturne no. 2 in E flat (op. 9 no. 2)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6b3swbnWg) at his Senior recital, his fingers effortlessly tickled the keys as his feet danced along the pedals.

He walked off the stage after his performance with his head held high, his chest puffed with pride. His strides were certain and purposeful, no longer in need of crutches for his knee had healed wonderfully.

In the audience, his father had been moved to tears at the sheer beauty of Blaine’s performance. And Sebastian had applauded the loudest.

Later, he would blame it on adrenaline, on the high of playing the piano again for emboldening him to pull Sebastian down for a kiss- his way of a _Thank you_ of sorts.

If Sebastian had minded, he didn’t mention it, merely wrapping his arms around Blaine in response and deepening the kiss.

Yes, Blaine had killed it at the recital, just as Sebastian predicted.

Sebastian always knew.

 

\---END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.


End file.
